


Todestrieb

by Fooeyburr



Series: Debt [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dark Comedy, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Prostitution, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13341789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fooeyburr/pseuds/Fooeyburr
Summary: Stan decides he's done enough learning.





	Todestrieb

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the newest installment at last, sorry it took me so long! This one takes place some time after [Rise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11813730), so expect more PTSD madness.

* * *

 

Freedom was nice and all, but at times like this, Stan really, _really_ needed to feel trapped.

And being trapped was usually – for the most part – uncomfortable, so he’d started with getting rid of his mattress. Now, he was lying on the bare wooden frame of his bed and scowling furiously at the ceiling.

Nope. Still nothing. This was getting more difficult every night… and he still had to do this, every _goddamn_ night. Why couldn’t his dumb brain dysfunction when he wanted it to?

He needed something, something metallic around his wrists, a grip on his hair, anything to trigger the damn flashback so he could get this over with.

…He wished his hair was still long.

He cursed under his breath turned on his side, trapping his right arm under his own weight. Yeah, that was better. It was almost like being held against the wall, Rico’s body weight keeping him still, but not enough to… Okay, yeah, here we go.

As soon as he could feel Rico’s breath against his neck, the hand caressing his growing hardness was no longer his own, and he gasped quietly at the sheer, almost comforting familiarity of it. He didn’t recognize the place – he didn’t have to, screw that, it didn’t matter, this wasn’t even a real flashback, anyway. He was there to get what he wanted, not to take a scenery tour around his suppressed memories.

All right, he needed to make this authentic. The asshole would mutter something in Spanish at any moment now… Stan scowled. Seriously? At a time like this, the only Spanish word he could get in his head was _‘Tepache_ _’_? What even was that, some kind of beer or something? Screw authenticity, this was stupid. English would have to do. Something sleazy and gross.

“Now be a good boy, Stanley… Show me how much you want this.”

Eh, not his strongest line, but that would have to do. Rico didn’t move his hand, but Stan wasn’t being restrained from moving himself, either. He was probably expected to move… but there was no way he’d turn that into a problem. This was all in his head, after all.

His first tentative thrust was enough to send a wave of heat through his whole body, and he had to support himself on the wall to keep on his legs. He moved again, quickly sinking into a pleasant haze, yet vaguely aware that something was off… The dickwad wouldn’t give it to him so easily, he’d have to –

“You realize you’ll have to reciprocate for this, yes?”

There it was. Stan gritted his teeth and stopped his heavy movements against Rico’s loose fist. It took him a considerable amount of effort, but the chance to spite the poor sucker was too good.

“Cut the bullshit”, he spat out. “You can’t make me do anything. Wanna know why? Because you don’t even exist. You’re a dead motherfucker, and all you’re good for is doing what I want you to do.” He bared his teeth in mocking laughter. “Who’s the whore now, huh?”

The Rico in his head didn’t answer – probably because even Stan himself couldn’t come up with a proper comeback to _that_. His grin widened; he felt drunk with the power to do as he pleased in his own imagination.

“Hey, you!” he quipped at the two vague figures he could see looming in the distance behind Rico’s back. “Hernandez or whatever the hell your name was! Get a fucking haircut! Yeah, cut it and give it to your pal, uh, Gonzo over there, because he sure needs something to cover that ugly lump that used to be his nose before I punched him in the face. Hah, what a bunch of losers, all of you!”

“Are you done?” Rico asked in a tone that definitely wasn’t his.

“Do I fucking look like it?” Stan barked back. “No, I’m not done, asshole, and it’s your job to finish me. You two can fuck off”, he told the distant figures, “I don’t need an audience.” They faded instantly from his vision.

“Then… Tell me what to do.”

Stan huffed, shifting his hips impatiently. He was growing desperate for release, and Rico would do exactly what he wanted whether he spelled it out or not, but now that he was in full control of his flashback, he couldn’t leave his opportunity to order the bastard around… even if it did put the whole pleasure part on hold for a few seconds.

“Kiss the back of my neck”, he said, almost reveling in how foreign the words sounded coming from his own mouth. “Yeah, always liked that, not gonna lie anymore. And keep your hand still… let me do the work, you know, just… move along.”

“What else?” Rico asked softly; he knew he wasn’t done.

Stan bit his lip, but only for a second. “…fuck me. Just get straight to the best parts. No need to prepare, since, uh, it’s in my head and all. Oh, and… one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not gonna hold back”, Stan growled, “and I’m not gonna keep my mouth shut. I’m done biting my tongue all the time, and when I get off, I get off for my own damn pleasure, not because you managed to _break_ me or whatever. So I’m gonna be as loud as I want, and wear that like a fucking badge. Got it?”

He could feel Rico smiling against the back of his neck; and for whatever reason, instead of the usual shame, it made him shiver with anticipation.

In the other room, Ford squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his pillow even tighter against his ears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey”, Stan grunted as he slouched into the kitchen well into the afternoon. Maybe it was the huge yawn that followed his words and clogged his ears, but he didn’t hear the usual reply from his brother, who was pouring coffee into his cup from a full pan. It was an unusual sight at this time of the day; usually Ford had his morning dose of caffeine at around seven in the morning.

“I assume you slept well”, Ford said at last as Stan sat down on the opposite side of the table. He didn’t even glance at him.

“Bah, you know”, Stan shrugged. “Same as always. Took me a while to fall asleep, so I –“

“It most certainly did. Until around 2:30 AM, if I recall correctly.”

“Whoa there”, Stan uttered with a frown. “So… you’re monitoring my sleep now? What, you stand behind my door and mark down the time I start snoring?”

“I don’t _have_ to stand by your room, Stanley”, Ford replied, gritting his teeth. “I can hear you perfectly well to my own.”

“Oh.” Stan turned his eyes to the window and cleared his throat. “Don’t you have, like, fancy earplugs or something? Don’t all scientists have those?”

“That is far beside the point”, Ford snapped. “The whole damn house can hear you, for goodness’ sake! Do you have any idea how loud you are? I had to stop Fiddleford from rushing into your room last night! He thought you were in pain! I had to – I had to _explain_ the nature of the situation to that poor man!” His tone of voice made it very clear how mortifying the nightly exchange had been.

Stan bit his lip. “He, uh, he okay?”

“He’s a devout Christian and a rather sensitive young man, Stanley. You know his religion’s stand on carnal liberties is rejective at best, so yes, he was quite distraught by the incident. He’s staying in a motel for now.”

“Well, you can’t blame me for _that_ ”, Stan protested. “Not my fault McGucket is a hidebound holy roller, is it? And you ain’t much better talking about ‘carnal liberties’ like it was some kind of a political issue, hah! It’s a human right! I’m a grown American man, I can _libera mi carne_ any time I want! Jesus, what is this, the Middle Ages?”

“Actually, during the medieval era –“

“You know what I mean!”

Ford huffed in a frustrated manner. “I understand that you are struggling for your recovery… Although I cannot see how your recent nightly activities would do anything apart from feeding your trauma even further… All I ask”, he said, raising his voice slightly to stop Stan’s angry retort, “is that you bring this to your therapist’s attention when you meet her later today. This house is as much your home as it’s mine, but it is not yours exclusively. I cannot have you disrupting my assistant’s peace of mind – or my own nightly rest, for that matter – with your… shameless acts of self-indulgence.”

“Then throw me out, yeesh”, Stan grumbled, but held up his hands at the sharp look Ford gave him. “All right, I’ll talk to Doc about it. Ugh, some conversation that’s gonna be.”

“With that devil-may-care attitude of yours, I am quite certain it won’t give you any trouble”, Ford commented bitingly.

“Know what? You’re right. It’s completely natural, and if she can’t handle it, that’s her problem. As if I care.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re looking better by the day.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been feeling particularly attractive lately, but hell, if he’d ever say no to a compliment. “Heh, thanks. It’s the hair growing back, isn’t it? Ladies love it. Never thought I’d say this, but I actually kinda miss the mullet. But I bet you half a grand it’s gonna be out of style by the time mine’s back in order.”

Dr. Harker – an older woman with a Southern twang in her voice and a clever twinkle in her eye – smiled. “I didn’t mean your hair, but I don’t doubt you’d be a catch with a mullet. There’s a trend I can agree with the youth on, and I don’t say that a lot. What I meant is you’ve been putting on some weight, which is good. Your face isn’t just skin and bones anymore. I assume you’ve been getting some rest in, too?”

“Yeah, sorta”, Stan nodded slowly. “It’s the falling asleep part that’s a little tricky, but once that’s taken care of, I sleep like a log ‘til morning.”

“You’re not the only one with that problem”, Harker pointed out with a chuckle, “but we’re not here to talk about my menopause, are we?”

“Yeesh, don’t go there”, Stan laughed. “Leave getting all gross and detail-y about bodily functions to me.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve raised three very energetic boys in my time. Nothing fazes me at this point.” The doctor leafed through a pile of papers she had in her hands. “So, Stan… During the past week, I’ve been reading through the anamnesis Dr. Holstein sent me. Your files”, she clarified as Stan made a confused face. “To be fair, I can’t really blame you for throwing a fit in the end. Holstein is a typical psychoanalyst – I’m not a fan of that school of psychology, in case that isn’t clear. His focus seems to have been entirely on the events that brought you here, that is to say, what happened in Mexico. Well, I’m more interested in the here and now.” She put down the files and leaned forward. “How are you doing, Stan?”

Stan blinked. The question was unexpected, but not in an unpleasant way. “Pretty good, I guess”, he said, scratching his temple uncomfortably. “Better than when I arrived to my brother’s, at least. Yeah, I’m better.”

“How’s your brother?”

“Stanford? Well, he’s himself. A moody, hair-splitting, moralizing know-it-all. Don’t get me wrong”, he then added quickly, “I appreciate the hell out of everything he does for me, and it’s not a stretch to say I’d probably be dead without him. He does his thing, that’s all. It’s been like this since we were kids. And hey”, he said with a weak shrug, “if I was a successful man with twelve doctorates, a house and some important secret science project in my hair, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be happy with a screwloose brother bumming around, either.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Stan”, Harker reminded. “You say ‘bumming’ – you don’t have a job, right?”

“Nope. Haven’t really looked for one just yet… Not sure what a hick town like this could have to offer for someone like me.”

“That’s fine. But you do need something to get your mind off your past. Is there anything you could do around the house? How do you spend your days?”

“I dunno.” Stan fell quiet, rocking his feet back and forth like a kid on a swing. Ford had been right; despite his defiance earlier in the morning, the issue was difficult to bring up after all. “I, uh, I’ve been jacking off a lot lately”, he eventually managed to say. He’d expected himself to feel embarrassed, but he just felt stupid.

“You have?” asked Dr. Harker, but not at all in a judgmental or repulsed tone. “Well, good, that’s good! I was a little worried that your experiences might’ve made you averse towards anything that has to do with sex or sexual behavior. It’s good that you at least have an outlet.”

“Yeah, I… I guess…”

“My gut tells me you’ve got something more to say about this.”

Stan let out a gravelly sigh. “All right, let’s be real here for a second. I’m probably never gonna have sex again. But I’m still a vigorous young man with biological needs and stuff, so I gotta work with what I have, you know?”

“I agree with the last part”, nodded Harker. “Perhaps not so much with the first one. Never say never, Stan. Obviously, you have the right to feel that way now, but I want you to believe me when I say that the fears your trauma left you with can be overcome with time –“

“No, I don’t think you get it”, Stan interrupted her rather harshly. “I’m not afraid of sex, ya see, it’s more about… what I can and can’t do, and what’s, uh, acceptable and what isn’t.”

“Well, assuming we’re thinking of the same thing here… “Dr. Harker adjusted her glasses. “Just because homosexuality hasn’t been decriminalized where I come from just yet doesn’t mean you can’t live your life as you choose in what’s a better part of the United States by now.”

“Yeah, yeah. See, I’m not a homo, Doc”, Stan stated in a bleak tone. “I love women, just like every other normal guy out there. Beautiful, curvy young ladies, that’s what I’m all about. But the problem here is, I don’t think I’m able to… ugh… satisfy a woman. Sexually.”

“What do you mean?”

Stan groaned under his breath. Harker was in a completely different league than Holstein, but it did seem like the insistence on him having to spell everything out came with the profession. “What I mean”, he said impatiently, “is I can’t get it up, okay? Not unless… it’s me being, you know… satisfied.” He gulped. “By a man.”

“But you’re not a homosexual.”

“Nope”, Stan grunted. He couldn’t really blame the doctor for her incredulous tone of voice.

“Well, that’s fine”, said Dr. Harker in her usual nonchalant tone. She held a moment of thoughtful silence; Stan was glad she wasn’t in the habit of taking notes, but he knew she was in the middle of registering everything he’d just said into a mental file she kept in her head.

Just as the silence was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, she spoke up again. “Since we’re on the subject… I promised to stay in the present, so let’s talk about what’s been on your mind lately, if that sounds okay with you. Don’t worry, we’ll stick with the nice things, ones that you do to relax. Of course, I’m talking about your increased autosexual activity.”

“Yeah, I got that at ‘relax’”, Stan said, “since that’s pretty much the only thing that does the job. What about it?”

“If this feels too personal, you can always tell me you’d rather not answer.”

“Go right ahead, Doc.”

“In those moments –“

“When I jerk it?”

“Yes, exactly. When you jerk it, what’s on your mind? What gets you going, so to say?”

“Whoa, okay.” Stan couldn’t hold back a laughter. “Sorry, it’s just that this is the first time a woman your age has been so straightforward with me. No offense.”

“None taken”, answered Harker with a slant smile. “Sugarcoating has never been part of my practices. I prefer to call spade a spade. You don’t need to hold back, either – use your own words.”

“Well…” Stan bit the inside of his cheek. For the first time during his three sessions with Dr. Harker, he was starting to feel a bit anxious. _Just answer the damn question_. “You know. What usually gets one going, heh.”

“Do you mean sex?”

“Damn straight I mean sex”, Stan blurted perhaps a little too aggressively.

“Mhm”, Harker hummed. “With Rico?”

Stan cringed. “…yeah, what the hell. Since you’re just going to throw that in my face, I guess there’s no point in denying it. You probably read it from my papers, anyway.”

“Curiously enough, Holstein never mentioned anything about this.”

“Yeah? Right, guess he was already more occupied with trying to think of escape routes from his office by the time it was brought up”, Stan said with a dry laugh. “So… Once the bastard got bored of beating me up – and really, he dropped that part completely during the few weeks or so, when I was no longer allowed to work at the… Anyway, yeah. The sex was good. Real good.” He shifted in his chair; his throat felt tight. “In fact, sometimes it was so good that it makes me wonder if _that_ was the real reason I didn’t shoot him dead before I ran away.”

“You didn’t kill him”, Harker said emphatically, “because it was the rational thing to do. You wouldn’t have been able to escape otherwise.”

“Yeah, sure”, Stan replied with a vacant stare. “It’s just… You asked me what’s been on my mind. Well, now you know. Guess that’s why I have to… y’know.”

“Jerk off.”

“Yeah. It’s all I’ve been doing lately.”

“How does it make you feel? Good?”

“Well, that too, obviously, but… for the most part, I just feel exhausted. A bit too relaxed, maybe, kind of feeble and… empty. It’s like my body excuses itself from doing anything else for the rest of the day, like I’m… uh, what’s the word for when you feel like you’re a dumb little kid again?”

Harker frowned thoughtfully. “Do you mean regression?”

“Yeah, that. Except that I don’t have the energy to run around and go on adventures, or anything else for that matter. I just wanna get really, really comfortable, and… that’s it.” Stan scratched his temple. “Does that make any sense, Doc?”

“Oh, it does, more than you know.” Dr. Harker leaned back in her chair and tapped her lip with a pen for a while. “Look, Stan, here’s the deal”, she said eventually. “You no longer blame yourself for what happened to you, and I admire that. But you were held captive for months, and during that time, your mind latched onto the only things that felt even distantly good and comforting. There’s no shame in admitting to yourself that sometimes you got sexual satisfaction from being used by your abuser. There’s nothing you could’ve done to stop that, and frankly, I think it’s good you didn’t fight your own feelings and emotions. You needed a break from holding up your defenses at all times.”

She crossed her legs and gave Stan a thoughtful look. “We do have a bit of a problem here, though. And it’s going to get worse if we can’t figure out something for you to do in your spare time… which is all you have at the moment, really.”

Stan scowled. “You’re starting to sound like my brother. ‘Get a job’, ‘you need to go out more’, lazy this, good-for-nothing that, well, what if I don’t _want_ to do anything?” He had no idea why he’d suddenly raised his voice. Then again, he couldn’t think of any reason not to. “Yeah! It’s not even the lack of energy, I just don’t care. You can’t tell me what to do, and nor can my brother.”

“Is that so?” The doctor’s voice gained a sharp note. “Well, I’m afraid we might be looking at the first warning signs of sex addiction, and that –”

“What?” Stan perked up, not bothering to cover his grimace. “Y-you’re not serious, are you? Is that even a real thing? And I – I haven’t even had actual sex since I escaped, and I’m not going to. I already told you that!“

“Oh, can it, Stan”, Harker replied placidly. “You’re having sex in your head, and that’s actual enough for your meat, isn’t it?”

Stan forgot his anger for a moment and just stared at her. “Did you just call my –“

“It’s making you passive and crippling your social life”, the doctor pressed on. “Sounds like classic symptoms of addiction, if you ask me. But I assure you it’s nothing to be ashamed of, _and_ we can fix it.”

“So you’re telling me to stop the only thing that helps me relax”, huffed Stan.

“Well, you might want to start working towards that”, Harker mused. “If it really feels that difficult, you’ve got all the more reason to give it a break.”

Stan was getting impatient. “Look, Doc, where’s the harm, really? You sure about this whole addiction business? Because it sure sounds like a bunch of hogwash to me. And what else am I supposed to do, anyway? Hell, I can’t even sleep without warming up first.”

“I was just getting to that”, said the doctor. “Let’s do a little mental exercise, okay? First off, take a deep breath and relax your position. You’re looking a little tense there.”

“Ugh… Sure, whatever.” Stan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, huffing through his nose for a few times.

Yeah, this did feel good. Relaxing.

“All right”, he could hear Dr. Harker say. “The reason you’ve been feeling awfully horny recently is because you’re carrying that over from your past situation to this day. Now, _that_ is what you need to stop, not so much what it drives you into.”

Stan grunted under his breath. He was feeling too peaceful to bother himself with the whole psychology side of this. “Just tell me what I gotta do, and I’ll do it. Should be easy enough.”

“Oh yes, it’s very simple. All you need to do is build a wall between the past and the present.”

Stan couldn’t hold back a snort. “You want me to build a wall on the Mexican border?”

“Shush. You know I meant it as a figure of speech.”

“Yeah, yeah. So how do I do that?”

“You need to find the point where it all began to change. That moment when you first knew you’d be able to escape…“

_I lo-_

**NO.**

Stan drew in a short gasp, and his body sank deep into his chair as if backing away from something.

“What is it, Stan?” Dr. Harker asked immediately. “Another flashback?”

“N-no”, Stan stammered, his eyes widening as he felt large hands that weren’t there pressing his hips down. “No, it’s like he’s right here. In this room. I-I’m going nuts, right?”

“It’s okay, let him be here. You’re safe, I’m here too. Tell me, is he saying something? Doing something?”

“Oh, _fuck_ … Here we…” Stan’s words slurred; his head flopped down against the backrest as his hand sought its way on his crotch to substitute for the mouth he could – and couldn’t – feel wrapping around his –

“Oh, no, you won’t”, Harker snapped. “Not in my office. You either cut that out or you walk.”

“Sorry, Doc”, Stan muttered, his numb fingers struggling with the button of his pants through the haze, “ya see, after being tied up for months, I sort of… made up a principle for this… If this happens and my hands are free –“

“All right, that’s it. Out, now.”

“I don’t think I can –“

“Oh, yes, you can. On your feet!” She wasn’t kidding; with feisty steps she walked up to Stan’s chair, grabbed his arm and pulled him up with a surprising amount of strength.

“Jeez, not you too”, Stan tried vaguely; his head was spinning, and he felt a little feverish.

“I’m not throwing you out”, Dr. Harker assured while leading him resolutely to the door. “You take care of this, and then you come back. Just don’t take the whole day, I’ll be leaving at six.”

“Got it”, Stan mumbled. “Is, uh, is there a place where –“

“Oh, good lord… There’s a broom closet on the fourth floor, nice and private. Now scurry off, you!”

He didn’t have to be told twice; as soon as the door was slammed shut in front of him, he sprinted half-running through the corridor towards the nearest staircase. Someone shouted after him, warning him of slippery floors, but his ears were deaf from the rush of blood and his racing pulse.

It took him painfully long to find the closet Harker had mentioned, but it was, as she’d said, nice and private. He bolted the door hastily shut with a mop and almost collapsed on the floor. Through the fog in his head he was somewhat aware that the fourth floor wasn’t completely deserted, so he grabbed a handful of paper towels, crumpled them into a ball and shoved it into his mouth to drown the noise – he knew he was going to make _hell_ of a lot of noise this time around.

Good. This was all good, he had the right to do this… Basic human rights…

Heat and sweat broke through his skin in feverish anticipation, and he could no longer bear to waste another second. He fumbled the zipper of his pants open and hit his head compulsively on the wall behind him as he imagined Rico’s mouth in his fingers’ place and let the flashback take over.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked in the darkness. He must’ve either lost consciousness or fallen asleep at some point; he didn’t really remember. Maybe he died and his soul was on its way to heaven, but his body was still somehow holding onto it. Hah, he didn’t know about this whole afterlife business. All he knew was he felt ridiculously good… good enough to make him want to never move from this spot again.

He knew he would have to, but he avoided that decisive moment for a long while before moving a muscle. It couldn’t be six yet. He still had plenty of time.

The mop clanked against the handle, finally startling him back to reality; someone was trying to open the door to the closet. “Hey, what the –“

“Uh, yeah, just give me a sec”, Stan muttered and dragged himself up from the floor with a soft grunt. His whole body still felt weak and clumsy from the afterglow as he reached for the ball of paper towels he’d spat out and wiped the floor between his legs with it. Even standing up was arduous.

“Is someone in there?”

After making sure he didn’t leave any mess behind, Stan unbolted the door. “Sorry”, he said to the confused janitor as he opened the door with an awkward grin. “I, uh, had to…” He shrugged drowsily as he left the clueless man and headed to the nearest bathroom, where he threw away the paper towels and washed his hands.

It wasn’t until the lights started to dim around him that he realized how late it was. He hurried to the second floor, where Dr. Harker was about to lock the door to her office.

“Oh, there you are”, she said dryly as she saw Stan approaching. “You washed your hands, right?”

“What? Oh, yeah… Sure.”

“Good. Now, I told you not to take the whole day, didn’t I? My office hours ended five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I… kinda lost the track of time back there”, Stan answered with an apologetic laugh. “But you’re still here, right? So maybe we can –“

“No, Stan, I’m sorry. We’ll have to continue this later. I’ve got two horses and a husband to feed back home, and I can’t neglect my family for a patient. I’m not your mother, you know.”

“Oh.” Stan couldn’t help but smile a bit. There was some resemblance, that much he had to admit, but it was distant enough to keep the embarrassment away. “Well, I just…”

He scratched the back of his head. There was one thing he needed to ask, but he’d rather do it somewhere less public. _Oh, what the hell_. “Do you… really think I have a…”

“You know, I’m not quite sure anymore”, Harker said thoughtfully. “I’m starting to think there could be something more to it.”

That didn’t sound good. “What –“

“Next time”, the doctor interrupted. “I can’t say anything for sure without a questionnaire or two, and we don’t have time for that now. Take care of yourself, Stan Pines… and really”, she added as she peered the man over the rim of her glasses, “start looking for that job.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _A job, my ass_.

Stan leaned his head on the steering wheel of his car and cursed silently to himself. What the hell was he supposed to do in this dumb little town? There was only so many people he could scam when the population was a few hundred tops! Even these country bumpkins weren’t stupid enough to catch on to his reputation sooner or later! And scams were all he’d ever been good for, right…?

“Not if you ask me, you’re not.”

“Well, I’m not asking you”, Stan grunted. “And who gave you permission to speak out of turn, anyway? I’m only supposed to hear you when I want to.”

Rico smiled; he could _feel_ it. “Sex addiction, huh?”

“Hey, what the hell? You shut your mouth, I don’t wanna…” he bit his lip. “And it’s not true, by the way. Harker said it herself. It’s something else.”

“ _Claro_.” Stan was starting to feel slightly claustrophobic; he knew what Rico was going to say next. “Maybe it’s not sex you’re addicted to. Maybe it’s me.”

“Bullshit”, Stan threw curtly. “And, and anyway – it’s the same thing. It was all just sex, nothing else. You’re just a sick piece of shit attached to a dick you happened to be pretty good at using.”

“Maybe that’s true”, Rico admitted in a smug tone. “But it wasn’t always like that. There were times when I had your undivided attention, remember?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m sure you remember what happened on the night before you escaped”, Rico continued lazily. Why couldn’t he make him disappear? “Hm, that really was something. And you finally allowed yourself to relive that in the broom closet just now… I’m almost proud. Oh yes, that was different, very different from the usual. Imagine how much better it could’ve been if you’d just stayed.”

Stan gritted his teeth. “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

“You’re refusing to let your mind wander”, Rico pointed out softly. “What was it about never biting your tongue again, hm?”

“Your English is too good”, Stan muttered. It was like listening to Dr. Harker speak in Rico’s voice, and it made him feel sick. “Keep yapping, I know this isn’t really you.”

Rico laughed. “Of course it’s not me. Rico is dead, remember?” Stan flinched as he felt a phantom weight on his thighs. “It’s all in your head, so you can do whatever you want with me. No need to be ashamed…”

Stan gulped. He felt lips on his, and at that moment he saw no reason to fight them. He melted into the leather of his car seat and, once again, let the memory of the night before his escape flood his brain; and, once again, he could feel blood rushing down to his groin as everything that had followed the kiss felt too good to be true.

He knew Rico’s mouth was busy elsewhere, and yet he still could hear him murmuring into his ear. “You can’t even get off without me, can you?”

“Jesus _FUCK!_ _”_

Stan kicked the underside of the dashboard so hard that the whole car jumped forward in the parking lot. _No._ This shit wasn’t going to fly. This had nothing to do with Rico. _Nothing_.

He started the car, trembling with shame and anger. Get a job? Oh, he’d get a _goddamn_ job.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He parked his car in front of the only bar he could find in town. _‘Skull Fracture_ _’_ didn’t sound very promising, but it would have to do.

His desperation overthrew his nervousness – and possibly common sense, too – when he stepped into the bar and saw the range of his potential customers. Not much to choose from, but he had a point to prove.

There. That one. A big and silent fellow, one who looked like the kind that would get a kick out of kicking other guys around. He was always good with those. Stan clenched his fists and approached him without further hesitation.

“Hey.”

The biker glanced at him as he leant on the wall next to him, a little closer than how close two strangers normally stand to each other, but said nothing.

Stan fumbled through his pockets. No cigarettes. So much for warmup. Oh well…

“You, uh…” He took a side step, moving an inch closer toward the biker. “You wanna give it a go?”

The biker turned his head to him and scowled. “’scuse me?”

“You know”, Stan said in a low tone. “Unless this is, uh, your first time with paid services? Hey, no problem there. Let’s make it a money back guarantee, right? I’m no hack, and I know my stuff so it won’t come to that, trust me.”

This time, the man’s entire massive body turned to face him. “What’chu want, punk?” he jerked out.

“Me? No, no, this isn’t about me”, Stan said at once, holding up his hands. “Let’s focus on what I can do for you, buddy. Whatever you want, heh… See, I, uh…” He wrecked his brain to come up with something to drive the point home with; the Spanish phrases he’d been taught wouldn’t do a thing to help him now. “I, yeah… I _suck more than anything_ , if you know what I mean.”

The biker crossed his arms and gave a meaningful look at another guy at the counter, who nodded and got up from his bar stool. “I _don't_ know what you mean”, he grunted in a low tone. “And we don't like it when people march in here talking 'bout something we don't understand."

“It’s a joke!” Stan tried, flashing a desperate grin. “I used to say that to sell vacuum cleaners, but now I can use it to sell myself! Handy, don'tcha think? Bad puns and marketing, it’s like peanut butter and jam!”

“You some kind of a dealer or somethin’?” The biker raised his eyebrow. “You’ve come to the wrong place, man. Whatever you’re selling, we ain’t buyin’.”

"Come on, buddy, don't be like that. Never turn down the product without at least giving it a test drive first, am I right?” Stan threw all cautiousness away and reached to place his palm on the stranger’s belt. “They say I'm pretty good at this, y'know”, he said quietly, his pulse hammering in his throat as he slid his hand a little lower.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The biker took a step back, and Stan realized he was surrounded by him and three other equally humongous men. “Did this little rat just try to manhandle my man handle?”

“Sure did”, one of the men grunted.

“He ain’t one of us, that’s for sure.”

“Now listen here, kid”, said the biker, thrusting his finger at Stan’s chest so hard that he almost lost his balance, “I don't know what kind of a man you are, but this is the eighties, and we ain't in San Francisco or whatever big city your kind spawns from, so you better watch your back when you walk out of that door within the next ten seconds. You understand?"

“You just go back to your little rat hole with other rats like yourself”, the third joined in, pointing down at Stan.

Slowly, as if by instinct, Stan got on his knees. Because of course he did. “Well”, he muttered a little feverishly, “what are you all waiting for? At least… hit me or something.”

The biker stared at him, dumbfounded. He glanced at his buddies and received three nods, which he returned and cracked his knuckles. “Know what?” he growled darkly. “I think I will.”

Stan felt an odd kind of relief at the man’s words; and the quiet, longing “oh, _god_ ” that escaped his mouth as he was grabbed and held down by the nape of his neck certainly didn’t make it any better.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Well, at least no limbs were broken this time around.

It was still hard to see the dark road with his swollen left eye, and by the time he parked in the yard of Ford’s hut, it was almost midnight. As he got up from his car and let out a gravelly sigh, his ears caught an unexpected string of banjo notes from the porch.

“Howdy, Stanley!” Fiddleford, already in his pajamas and nightcap, greeted him. “Boy, you look like yer been sailin’ troubled waters tonight. Don’ mind me, just strummin’ m’self to sleep, ain’t none o’ my business where ye’ve been. But yer brother’s waitin’ fer ye inside the house. Couldn’t strum that one to sleep, no how.”

“Oh… Yeah, well, thanks for trying”, Stan said cautiously. “You, uh… You all right?”

Fiddleford raised his eyebrow. “Well, sure! Dandy as ever, what wiz that lil’ naggin’ feeling that I just might’ve forgot’n somethin’ today. Anyhow, it’s Stanford you oughta be lookin’ out for. Step right in and tell’m yer back, would ya? Give the poor man a peace o’mind.”

“Sure”, Stan nodded and headed inside. “Night, McGucket.”

“G’night, Stan.”

He found Ford in the kitchen over yet another cup of coffee, his face buried into his hands. He leapt up from his chair as soon as he heard Stan softly clearing his throat to let him know of his presence.

“Stanley!” he yelped. “Where have you been? Did we not agreed that you return home straight from the… What – what happened to you?” he then asked as his gaze was glued onto his swollen eye and the large bruise forming under his chin.

Before Stan could answer Ford spoke up again, his voice gaining a dark edge he had only heard once before – after he’d told him about Rico for the first time. “Who did this?”

“Oh, just some big guy down at the local bar”, Stan said quickly. “Didn’t catch his name. Don’t worry, I totally deserved that, heh. Was pretty much begging for it, actually.” He let out an awkward laughter.

Ford turned away from him without saying a word and walked out of the kitchen.

“Hey, I mean it”, Stan tried and followed him to the living room; he still didn’t know how Ford was involved in Rico’s death, and his silence unnerved him. “I crossed more than one line back there. You would’ve smacked me too, believe me.”

“Was he one of the regulars?” Ford asked as he reached for the first-aid kit, his tone of voice far from nonchalant.

“All right, Sixer, you need to cool it, okay?” Stan frowned, trying not to wince at the pain the pressure caused in his eye. “I appreciate you looking out for me and all, but at least let me fight my own fist fights. For the last time, I’m the one who started it.”

Ford gave him a suspicious look. “You’re a boxer. Are you telling me you couldn’t defend yourself?”

“Don’t know what to tell ya”, Stan shrugged. “The guy was huge.” He knew he was bending the truth, but he wasn’t too enthusiastic about the idea of waking up one day to Ford telling him the stranger at the bar would _‘never hurt him again_ _’_ , either.

They sat on the couch in silence as Ford patched him up, like he’d done so many times in their childhood after every schoolyard scuffle Stan had gotten into. Stan could see he wasn’t angry at him for not returning home after his therapy session like they’d agreed, but eventually his brother’s unreadable expression forced him to speak.

“I, uh…”

“You don’t have to tell me where you’ve been”, Ford interrupted him. “We are both adults, and I cannot hold you accountable for your every action.”

“That goes both ways, y’know”, Stan quipped back before he could stop himself. “If you do something stupid under the guise of protecting me or whatever, that’s gonna be on you.”

“I am aware of that.”

“I’m serious, Poindexter. No more of that Batman shit, okay?”

“As per your own words, it goes both ways. I will not be held accountable, either.”

Stan huffed. “Fine, jeez. Just trying to make this whole ‘peaceful co-existence’ thing work here.”

After a few more minutes of rather uncomfortable silence, Ford let out a quiet sigh and rose to his feet to put the first-aid kit away. “There. I didn’t find anything that would require stitches, so you should be all right for now.”

“Thanks, bro.” Stan scratched the back of his head. “Look, even though we should both mind our own business and all –”

“No, I apologize. That was too harsh of me.” For the first time in a while, Ford’s gaze met his from the other side of the room. “If there is anything you wish to tell me…”

“Sometimes I just feel like I have to go back”, Stan blurted out in a torrent.

Ford was quiet for a moment; there was a shade of fear in what Stan could see of his eyes in the dimly lit room. “If this is about our discussion this morning”, he then started, “I –“

“Relax, it’s not like that”, Stan said right away. “I don’t mean loading my car with every valuable I can find lying around in this hut and actually driving back to Mexico or anything, it’s more like… going back in time. It’s like what Doc said – I was trained like a dog to live my life in a certain way, and now I gotta rewire my brain, and… it’s not working out. It’d be so much easier to just shut down what little common sense I’ve got left and go autopilot. You know?”

“I’m sorry, Stanley”, Ford answered quietly, “I’m afraid I don’t really know what you mean.”

“Shit. I’m no good at explaining things. It’s just…” Stan gulped. “This is the first time since I ruined your chanced of getting into that fancy school that I could actually make up for it, but instead I – I always –“

“Come here.”

Stan gave a little start at Ford’s sudden commanding tone. “What?”

“Just do as I say.”

“Oh… Sure.” Still confused, Stan got up and walked to his brother, wondering in the back of his mind if he was going to get scolded or lectured like a little kid; to his surprise, he found himself wrapped in a hug so tight that it nearly squeezed the air out of his lungs.

It didn’t last for long, which was admittedly a relief – this was the most physical contact he’d had with another person since his escape, and he wouldn't have known what to do if his body had reacted the wrong way.

He was still thunderstruck when Ford let him go and took a grip on his shoulders instead. “Listen to me, Stanley”, he said sternly. “You don’t owe… _anyone_ … anything. Not me, not Mrs. Harker, not… not _him_ … Your debt is gone. You have nothing to make up for.”

“Ford –“

“You have your freedom. _Seize it_.”

Stan stared at him, struggling to find the right words. Ford was wrong, of course. He wasn’t free. He didn’t _feel_ free, but… Well, at least he didn’t get a hard-on when his own brother hugged him. That was definitely an improvement.

“I – well,” he managed to stammer at last, “I was gonna say I’m sorry for what happened last night, but –“

“Ah, yes. Allow me to take back my earlier words”, Ford said with a slant attempt of a smile. “You most certainly owe Fiddleford an apology.”

Stan grinned. “Hah, yeah. Though I gotta say the guy didn’t seem to be too frazzled anymore.”

“You are right about that”, Ford nodded, scratching his chin. “I talked to him earlier, and it appears as though he can't even recall the whole incident. It's the strangest thing…”

“A convenient memory loss, huh? You can sign me up for that any day.”

Ford looked out of the window, crossing his arms behind his back. “The past is in the past, Stanley. And it is not your memories, but your actions that determine who you will be in the future.”

Stan smiled. “You know it, brother.”

After wishing Stan good night, Ford remained alone in the empty living room. Slowly, his six fingers reached for his pocket and wrapped around a large ring he’d found in his mail box earlier that day. His lips formed silently the words that had been written in a unique set of ciphers on the envelope that was now just ashes in the fireplace.

 _Here_ _’s your proof, Sixer. Go wild!_

 

 

 

 


End file.
